


Play You Like

by RavenGrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cock Rings, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyes on John’s, Sherlock brings the slick finger to his mouth and licks it neatly clean, repeating the act with his thumb. He scrapes his teeth over the skin, releasing it with a nearly inaudible sucking sound. The only thing kept John from cumming himself right then and there was the hateful little ring that Sherlock had fit snugly around the base of his cock after he’d gotten him cuffed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play You Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> I'm perfectly crap at summaries. And titles. Welp. This is almost 2,000 words of pure porn, hope it's vaguely enjoyable.

            John’s hands are curled into tight fists, nails biting hard into the skin of his palms, head thrown back as Sherlock strokes his cock with slow, God they were so fucking slow, movements. The skin of his throat gleams with sweat and his shoulders strain against the pull of the handcuffs that immobilize his hands, sweat slicking his torso and making his hair stick to his forehead. His pants are pushed down to his ankles, along with his boxers, all tangled up in his shoes and trapping his legs. He’d spent a good five minutes to trying to kick them off before Sherlock had neatly tied his ankles to the bed posts using the belts of his dressing robes. John had to credit him for his inventiveness.

            The warm metal of the handcuffs bites into the soft skin of his wrists as he gives a futile jerk, the muscles of his stomach twitching when Sherlock teases a finger along the underside of his cock and then brushes the pad of his finger ever so fucking lightly over the head of his prick. John’s feet slide over Sherlock’s sheets, toes curling while Sherlock settles himself more comfortably on John’s knees.

             John feels the jolt of arousal it causes all the way down to his toes and bucks his hips upward, a surprised groan pulled from his throat while he tries to valiantly ignore the way his cock twitches eagerly when metal digs painfully into his skin. John’s chest heaves, breaths coming in hoarse pants as he tries in vain to reign in the lust that has wiped all rational thought from his mind.

             Everything was the heat of Sherlock’s hand on him, the watchful eyes on his skin, dark with want but ever alert and the fucking _sinful_ way that Sherlock’s lips tilt as he pulls John apart piece by piece. When Sherlock pulls his finger away, the easy smirk on his lips curling dangerously at the edges, he rubs the pre-come stained finger against his thumb, expression thoughtful and altogether far too considering.

            Eyes on John’s, Sherlock brings the slick finger to his mouth and licks it neatly clean, repeating the act with his thumb. He scrapes his teeth over the skin, releasing it with a nearly inaudible sucking sound. The only thing kept John from cumming himself right then and there was the hateful little ring that Sherlock had fit snugly around the base of his cock after he’d gotten him cuffed.

            The sound he makes is strangled and he grits his teeth against the swell of heat that curls low and hard in his belly, back arching away from the bed as he tries to ride out the painful wave of pleasure. It didn’t help in the least that one of Sherlock’s slender hands had resumed its teasing and was now toying with his balls while the other scoured searing lines down his chest.

            A whimper, an honest to God _whimper,_ is pulled rather mercilessly from his throat and Sherlock shifts forward delightedly as John writhes against the sheets, the angry red lines burning in a way that had John’s bollocks tightening once more. Sherlock’s fingers ghost up the length of his shaft, the movement so slow that John could _feel_ his sanity slipping. “ _You absolute bastard,”_ John chokes out, head tossing fiercely as he tries to buck against the suddenly absent hand “ _you god-damned tyrant_.”

            Sherlock laughs, the sound low and warm “You’ve mastered the art of sweet talk John, I’d have to say I’m rather proud” He purrs back, grin sharp and dangerous while he watches John offer up every shred of control he has to offer. It’s so wonderfully depraved that Sherlock can’t help but love bringing John, brave, proud John to his knees and watch him writhe once he has him there. Sherlock’s hand plays over John’s belly, the extreme heat of John’s skin contrasting with the cool of his hands.

            “ _Fuck off_.” John gasps back, turning his head sharply to the side, the muscles of his stomach clenching under Sherlock’s hand. “Dearest John,” Sherlock drawls back, dragging his nails hard down the sensitive skin of John’s pelvis “it would seem that when you are stimulated sexually your already minimal amount of intelligence decreases further.” The snarl that follows has a pleased shudder coursing the length of Sherlock’s spine and he uses the hand not currently touching John to shift his arousal, the outline of his cock painfully visible through the material of his trousers.

             John’s eyes shift unconsciously, as Sherlock had intended, and he looks away quickly, determined to ignore the way his cheeks burn and arousal rips at his fraying control. It’s hard to think and Sherlock’s voice is throaty and low, the insult of his intelligence barely registering on his list of concerns. The main one being the way his cock is hard to the point of being painful and the pre-come that slicks the tip of him liberally, the pearly fluid pooling on his stomach.

            Sherlock watches it all with heated intensity, lip caught between his teeth while he resists the urge to grind himself against John’s thigh. Instead he grips the base of John’s cock and gives it a rough stroke, the harsh shout he pulls from John sending a jolt of arousal through his belly. Sherlock leans in close to John’s flushed ear, hand still on his cock, and groans into the shell “ _Beg me for it.”_

            John chokes on a moan and tries to think through the brutal pleasure that overloads his system, his cock jerking in Sherlock’s hold. Sherlock thumbs the head of him and squeezes, the downward stroke just as unforgiving and John jerks hard enough on the cuffs that he breaks the skin, the small pain setting his nerves ablaze. His breaths are shaky and broken and he nearly screams when a third orgasm rises sharp and hard, overwhelming in its intensity and all consuming.

            Only to have it denied. John’s breaths are coming in sobs and he thrashes against the sheets, hips bucking and sides heaving. Sherlock leans back and meets John’s eyes once more, his pupils huge and dark, and murmurs lowly “Beg me for it, John, you know you want to,” he gives another stroke, this one languid and easy “how badly do you need to cum right now? How very far have I pushed you?” The last part is groaned, Sherlock’s hips rocking forward. Sherlock removes his hand from John’s stomach and palms himself through his trousers, pre-come dampening the material where the head of his cock is.

            “How badly do you want this?” The words are breathed and altogether far too gleeful. Sherlock undoes his pants quickly and without thought, taking his cock in hand and stroking himself lazily. The pleasure he bring himself is nothing compared to watching John war with his desperate need and the pride Sherlock so loves him for.

            “I-” John’s voice is so wonderfully wrecked that Sherlock has to tighten his fingers quickly around the base of his prick to keep himself from losing it. “I want it.” John’s eyes are closed and his face is flushed a brilliant shade of red, lips parted on frantic gasps as those rasped words push Sherlock right to the edge and back. “Beg pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.” Sherlock replies, voice full of false innocence and a breathy note.

            John’s eyes flash and Sherlock grins dangerously at the bound man before slipping his fingers slyly down over John’s balls to brush over his entrance. John’s entire body jolts and his resolve crumbles. He chokes out “I want it, _oh God_ , please Sherlock, _please.”_ Sherlock teases the delicate skin with his fingertip, his hand stilling on his length in favor of gripping John.

            After a moments consideration, in which Sherlock memorizes the wild look in John’s eyes and preserves every gasped breath in his mind, Sherlock pulls his hand back and sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them both liberally in spit before returning them to John’s entrance. John struggles to keep his eyes open, his desperation and need reaching its peak when Sherlock’s fingers press slowly into him.

            John’s entire body tenses, muscles clenching down hard on Sherlock’s fingers, Sherlock growls, the sound feral, and slides the cock ring slowly off of John’s reddened length. It’s a slow process and Sherlock takes his time, wrapping his fingers around John once the ring is removed. Pushing his fingers in to the second knuckle Sherlock stays there, unmoving. John’s hips buck back onto Sherlock hand and he groans good and loud when Sherlock’s fingers slip deeper inside of him.

            “ _Now_ Sherlock.” John bites out, his entire body one live wire “Please.” He adds desperately. Sherlock’s breath hitches and he acquiesces, cock aching fiercely while he strokes John from base to tip with a steady hand. John comes immediately, his entire body bowing while cum paints his stomach and chest, spilling over Sherlock’s fingers and slickening his hold. John’s eyes slam closed and he all but screams Sherlock’s name, the weight and warmth of Sherlock’s body an anchor while white hot pleasure nearly consumes him. The head board creaks and groans, John’s wrist pulling hard against the metal, deepening the bruising on his wrists.

            When John is spent, shaking and shuddering beneath him with nothing left to give, Sherlock releases his hold on John, taking his cock in hand and setting up a fast and hard pace. His other hand moves to cover one of John’s bound hands while he fucks into the tight circle of his hand. John stirs blearily, eyes locking with Sherlock’s and Sherlock drags his fingers over the dark red lines on John’s wrist, his orgasm finding him as simply as that. His cum coats John’s stomach in thick white streaks, mingling with John’s and adding to the mess.

            John’s breaths are still coming in gasps, his entire body shuddering lightly and Sherlock’s mind is blissfully quiet, his lips parted as he sucks in deep breaths and tries to avoid flopping bonelessly onto the still captive John. He doesn’t really succeed and ends up only managing to curl himself into John’s side, his elbow digging into John’s ribcage. John gives an exhausted ‘oof’ and goes with it, as he hasn’t really much say in the matter.

            “That was brilliant.” Sherlock’s voice is smug and satisfied, slurring with exhaustion. Sweat clings to the line of his throat and collects in the divots of his collar bones. Sherlock reaches down for John’s discarded shirt and wipes most of the mess with it. After he’s caught his breath, Sherlock reaches for the key on his bedside table and uncuffs John after a few tries. He grabs the blanket form the floor and tosses it carelessly over John’s almost completely naked form.

            “You’re an arse.” John replies simply, voice ragged and sleepy while he exchanges the ‘almost completely naked’ for a completely naked, hands slow as he strips. Sherlock has no objections and sluggishly shuffles out of his own clothes. Sherlock considers that for a moment and then smiles in a self satisfied sort of way. He presses a kiss to John’s damp forehead, settling himself deeper into John’s side before responding with a pleased. “Yes, yes I am.” John snorts, sticky but too tired to do anything about it, and pillows Sherlock’s head with his arm, his knee sliding between Sherlock’s and staying there.


End file.
